Huntsman's Creed
by hiyuusha
Summary: Everyone knows the tales of the great Assassins Altair and Ezio, but what of those who did not shine so brightly in the spotlight? This is the tale of one such Assassin, and those who find their lives intertwined with his. Hunstman-oneshots.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, etc. etc. you know how it works.**

**This is just an idea I came up with as I was playing Multiplayer on Assassin's Creed 3, all the characters there have short little tidbits of information, but none of them are really fleshed out enough to give them a fully detailed story. Since this is my first time writing an AC fic, I'll try to be as historically accurate as I can be, but it goes without saying that there may be some mistake. Furthermore, since the MP characters don't really have that much of a background, expect many OCs or historical figures not covered in Liberation or the Main AC game, I will try to throw in as many canon characters as I can, (keeping in regard to their placement in history and the AC universe) I'll probably try to make use of every MP character as well, but it will take time to figure out how I can fit them all into the story. Anyway, I think that's enough of me typing about for now, so I hope you enjoy the prologue to this fic.**

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Huntsman's Creed

**Paris, France**

Amongst a dimly lit room of wives and men, a lone aristocrat stood apart from the rest. Garbed in a navy blue military raincoat, he leaned against the side wall away from any unwanted distractions. His face was obscured by the noble hood and cape curled over his head, masking his emotions as he portrayed what he hoped looked like an apathetic gentleman.

Oh what he wouldn't give to be enjoying himself amongst the crowd, heatedly debating his views with the rest of them… but there was no time for that, he had a job to do. Ceasing his eavesdropping on the rich as they traded their stories and spread gossip, his eyes scanned the room, searching for that one distinguishing feature that set his target apart from the rest.

Minutes passed, and as the gossip began to die down, the aristocrat found who he was looking for. A short, stubby old man dressed in a poor fit for a suit, sitting across the room chugging what appeared to be his fifth bottle of booze.

Gently pushing himself up to stand on his own feet, the aristocrat began to maneuver through the crowd. He moved slowly, each step taken in care to not alert his target to his presence as of yet. Squeezing his way past the tightly knit crowd that had gathered to hear the crier's latest announcements, the man stalked towards his prey, circling behind him so as to remain unseen.

The time was ripe.

"Drinking on the job again?"

"William!" the small man coughed, slamming his bottle on the ground and nearly toppling his chair over all in one movement. "Arrêtez! You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days."

"I am not in the mood for your games, spy." The aristocrat responded warningly, moving to sit beside the man.

"Straight to business this time then?" the man asked, taking another swig of his bottle before setting it aside. Reaching inside the sleeve resting inside his jacket, the spy slowly withdrew a small piece of parchment, bound and wrapped by a red bow. He tapped it against the aristocrat's, William's, chest, letting the young man grab it and read the contents for himself.

"Your father sends his regards." The spy murmured, turning to watch the crowd bicker and squabble. "Fools, the lot of em! Don't they realize they have more important things they can be doing with their time?"

"You should not be so hard on them," William responded from his side, chancing a glance at the crowd as he untied the parchment, "It has been too long since we've had anything to be happy about."

"Be happy about? We just got through with one war and now we're jumping right back in to another! You wait and see, this thing with the Americas… it won't end well."

William shook his head in exasperation, knowing that the spy always thought something was going to end well. Adjusting himself in the chair and setting the parchment down in front of him, William narrowed his eyes and began to read.

_Cher William,_

_To start with, congratulations. I have heard news of your graduation from your mother, and while unexpected, it was certainly a pleasant surprise. If anything, I am happy to see you have not been wasting your time away from home. Things here have become… troubling, to say the least. As you now doubt know by now, it appears that France will be entering the war. It is for such reasons that I am writing this letter to you now. A friend of mine has requested aid for a shipment of supplies set for Boston, and I assured him a man of your particular talents would be more than ready for the job. Alas, I would have informed you sooner, but time here is limited. You will find enclosed the ticket for your passage. The ship leaves at 6 o'clock Monday Morning, Do _not_ be late._

_Tous mes voeux,_

_Henry de Saint-Prix_

'_Short and to the point as usual.'_ William thought to himself, spotting the ticket mentioned in the letter pinned to the back of the letter. Gripping it gently between his forefingers, he read off the departure date and name of the vessel he was to escort.

"February 15, 1778… the _Escargot_… what a strange name."

"Well, don't leave me hanging, what's it say boy?"

William set the ticket safely in his pouch before answering. "It seems I am headed for the New World."

"Going to go fight off the British in the name of the French huh? Good on ya then! Will you be heading out soon then?"

"No. There is still one last thing I must do here." William responded, his voice taking on a steel edge.

"Ah, _that_ little detail yes? You'll find him upstairs. He's got the place locked up pretty tight though, so you'll probably have to come in from above."

"That will not be a problem."

The spy smiled, "I await news of your success."

Having nothing more to say to the man William stood, slipping out the back door as he pulled on his navy blue hood. Yes, there was another purpose to his being in Paris that night.

Victor Wolcott. An ordinary doctor, one would think, at first glance. But William knew better. He had undergone great lengths to confirm that the man he now hunted was what he thought he was: An agent of the Templar Order. Rumors were that he had taken to keeping many of the Templars from death, and as cold as it seemed, his death would deal a great blow to the Order.

It was for that reason that William scaled the side of the building, making use of small stubs and cracks in the brick to ease his ascent. He quietly lifted himself up and over the side of the fourth floor balcony, being sure not to alert the three guards posted on the side of the door. If it had been daylight, there was no doubt that he would have been seen, but with the darkness masking his presence, it allowed him to take a few liberties.

'_As expected, there are far too many guards posted here tonight. I wonder what is so special about today.'_

William crouched down, setting a hand on his pouch as he checked his equipment. He had learned from prior experiences that it was important to double check. After all, his line of work was dangerous, and the situation could change at a moment's notice.

Spread out across his belt were a small pack of knives, molded and built for the sole purpose of hindering his target's movement. His hidden blade was fitted snugly on his right wrist, and a small steel cutlass rest safely on his hip, ready to be used for any high-profile kills he may have to make. He didn't bother to open his pouch, reminding himself of the weight of what was stored within. Two vials of deadly toxin, both of which could be applied by touch or dart. It was still in its experimental stages, but he'd practiced with enough animals to have faith that it could easily render a full-grown man dead in less than a minute.

The young man quietly turned his attention back to the guards. It seemed as though something was going to be occurring soon... all the more important that he finish his own job quickly then.

Standing from his kneeled position, William approached the two guards from behind, releasing his cutlass and hidden blade. In two fluid motions, he drove the hidden blade deep into the base of the guard's neck, before shifting on his heel, swinging his cutlass in an upward arc to sever the other's neck. As practiced as he was in the art, it was little to no difficulty to complete, and the guards were dead before they even knew what happened.

The aristocrat sighed as he sheathed both weapons, always hating when a life was taken unnecessarily. Any other time he would have found another path, but there was no time for that. If his Intel was to be believed, his target would only be in the building for half an hour, after that, William would be forced to hunt the man down again. He had come too far to let Wolcott escape now!

Slipping inside an open window, the murderer glanced at the scenery. Far unlike the bright, illuminating nature of the rooms downstairs, the floor was dark and murky, almost like something out of a Shakespearian play. Will smiled wryly, no wonder the upstairs floors were restricted, it was likely the Doctor was using it as the base for one of his many "experiments".

Making use of the shadows as he slid down the corridors, it didn't take long for the Frenchman to reach his destination: Wolcott's private study. Biology books lay sprawled out across the floor and walls, and numerous anatomical designs of the human body were plastered above on the ceilings.

'_Someone's been busy.'_ William thought as he searched the area for clues of the man's current whereabouts. _'It looks as though he was in a hurry.'_

On the desk, a single symbol caught the man's eye, a letter bearing the Templar Cross. If that didn't prove Wolcott's allegiance, then William didn't know what would other than a signed confession.

'_It looks like he was expecting several new patients… just how much do the Templars trust him, to put the lives of so many of their soldiers in his care?'_

The sound of approaching footsteps broke him from his thoughts. He pressed himself against the wall, watching as several foot soldiers passed him by.

"-mad I say. He's always going on about his latest plans and "medicines"; at least, that's what he calls them. More like poison if you ask me."

"Well, at least the job pays. If all I gotta do is stand around guarding this hunk of junk, I have no complains, and you shouldn't either, just keep your head down and do your job. It's the one rule that's kept me alive all this time."

'_The English? What are they doing here?'_ William thought, risking a few steps to hear more of the conversation.

"Yes well, the job may pay, but you can't deny this place has an effect on your mind. I swear I've been hearing noises in the bedroom."

"Not this again Johnny. We've been in there a thousand times! I'm telling you you're imagining it."

"Well then that proves my point doesn't it?" the guard retorted in his British accent, "This place, it's not good on ya."

'_The bedroom is it? Might be worth a look.'_ William thought, retreating back into the shadows as the conversation turned to more practical things.

The bedroom itself wasn't all that hard to find. The path was filled with well-placed hiding spots, allowing William to continue on his way undetected.

A large bed filled the center of the room, and William once again found his eyes filled with portraits of human flesh and bodily compositions. Not bothering to comment on the stench protruding from Wolcott's bedside, William once again began to scan the area for clues.

The guards had said they had searched the room plenty of times and had found nothing, but they hadn't been trained like William was.

He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing nothing but the soft echoes of the crowd downstairs as time seemed to slow to a crawl. As he opened his eyes, everything seemed to be in a blur, and yet, he could see everything, from the cockroaches skittering across the floor to the old newspaper articles detailing the Boston Tea Party several years earlier. Everything in the room was exposed for the Frenchman to see, and if their truly was anything worth looking at, he would find it.

The floorboards creaked under his weight, but there was nothing strange about that. If anything, the biggest clues were the cockroaches themselves. Scurrying across the ground with their tiny insect legs, a thin line of the critters disappeared behind a lone bookshelf. William couldn't help but snort.

Surely the Templar doctor would place his secrets in a far more secure location? Using a bookshelf to hide one's most prized possessions… it was one of the oldest tricks in the book, so much so that it had appeared in numerous plays William had seen as a child. Shaking his head as he drove away the memories, the young man walked over to the shelf, searching the books for a symbol or switch that would reveal Wolcott's secrets.

He found one on the fifteenth, a book titled _"Biologie Facile: A Guide to the Body for a Simple Man". _The symbol of the Templar Order appeared on its base, and upon being pressed, released a hidden lock, allowing William to swing the nearby wall open. The area behind the wall was carried a set of spiraling stairs, each step looking more fractured and demented than the last.

'_I am close… I feel it.'_ He thought as he ascended the final step, appearing before a wooden door. The sound of classical music echoed through its cracks, giving the area a much warmer feel than William thought it deserved.

Slipping inside, the young Assassin found himself staring at the back of his intended victim, the man who had made use of the sick and elderly to pursue his own ideals and goals.

"William." The man's words were silk and smooth, catching the boy off guard, "Somehow, I knew it would be you."

"Victor." William replied, acknowledging the man as one he knew. Approaching Wolcott slowly and cautiously, the Assassin made to sit. "It is true. I have come here to kill you.

"Hm." Victor murmured, sipping on what appeared to be a fine wine as he read through his latest documents. "It is just as well. Better you than anyone, I suppose."

"Why are you so calm?" William found himself asking, "You know I am here to kill you, and yet you remain seated, reading your documents as if this were just another one of your lectures."

"Ah, but isn't it?" Victor replied, taking another sip, "Here you stand, bearing the coat of arms of the mysterious, righteous Assassin Brotherhood! And here I sit, representing the powerful Templar Order."

"Do not attempt to sway me." William warned, "I know of your schemes, Victor. You have experimented on numerous innocents, cutting and tearing at their bodies and souls until nothing remained but a bloodied corpse. You've kept treatments from those that could not pay, and raised your fees so high that only the richest of the rich can pay."

"And what would you have me do? Release my treatments to the general public for free? Money is power boy, and without it, my treatments too shall cease to be."

"So you sold yourself to the Templars, Giving them full access to your elixirs at all times so that you would have funding to continue your research into the occult. However, in doing so you've made yourself a target of the Assassins. There were far better ways for you to have handled this. Now you must face the responsibilities of your actions."

"And even if I die, who's not to say another shall not continue my work? The Order has more than enough information to continue my research, and there are always others willing to join the cause."

"Their cause is the enslavement of humanity. No man should be treated unfairly, and all men have the right to remain free. You would sell their souls to the devil for a few more years of profit and gain, and that is something I cannot allow. You say there will be those that will continue your work. The same goes for I. Wherever the Templars go, you can be certain that the Assassins shall follow."

"Spoken like a true poster boy. You haven't changed one bit since you stepped into my classroom."

"It is a shame the same cannot be said for you."

With nothing left to be said between them, William drove the steel of his blade deep inside the man's heart. As he watched the blood soak Wolcott's shirt, the Assassin felt the briefest pang of remorse. Victor Wolcott had potential, it was unfortunate he had chosen to side with the Templars. Sighing as he once again sheathed his hidden blade, William moved to close the man's eyes for the last time.

"Repose en paix, mon maitre." William whispered, standing from his place and returning to the stairs.

By the time he hit the bottom step, Wolcott was out of his mind. Donning his hood and hat once more, William returned to the issue at hand. He had no more time for sentimentality; after all, he had a boat to catch.

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**Like it? Hate it? Let me know your thoughts!**


	2. Storage House

**Chapter Two**

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**The Storage House**

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"You're making a terrible mistake," a feminine voice hissed, "Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll cut these bonds before I-"

"Oi!" one of the woman's guards laughed, "Look here ladies! The woman's got spunk!"

The female grimaced at the words, hearing the guard and his friends laugh as she pulled at her bonds. "You laugh at me now, but rest assured, once my father hears of this he'll-"

"Father?" the guard asked, "What kind of father would let his little girl run around pretending to be one of us Redcoats? Sounds like bad parenting for an American, if you ask me."

"Well," the female Redcoat smirked, "that _bad_ parent you speak of is none other than your commanding officer, Mathew Davenport."

The Redcoats paused, "Davenport?" one of them asked, "Stop lying lassie, I know for a fact Davenport's daughter is back in England, looking for a well-off suitor. Man told me I might have a chance myself, given I head back to the mainland this winter."

The woman laughed, "Well, I'm not in England anymore then am I?" she stared her captor up and down, sizing him up, "And I'm afraid to say, Eleanor Mallow does not take kindly to half-assed Redcoats like yourself."

Whatever response the Redcoats might've had for her was cut off as a sudden shout rang out from the back, soon followed by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The men were immediately on guard. There was only one man they knew of who carried a gun that invoked that distinct sound.

There was a brief moment of silence as the men prepared themselves… and then-

"Assassin!"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. _"Assassins? Here? Impossible! How'd they learn of this location?!"_

His movement was fluid, making no error as cut his way through the masses. A year ago, when he first arrived aboard the esteemed ship the _"Escargot"_, he was nowhere near as skilled or battle-ready as he was now.

Indeed, William de Saint-Prix was a changed man.

Running the last of the door guards through with his golden blade, William turned, grasping the butt of his pistol with his free hand before aiming it at the door. He counted the time down in his head.

"_Any second now… Three… Two… One…"_

Right on cue, the doors burst open, revealing twenty or so Redcoats intending to end the rising Assassin's life.

William didn't hesitate.

A shot rang out just as the first Redcoat entered the room, and the battle began.

As his blade met the first of many, William idly remembered to thank "Joe" for the impromptu lesson in swordplay. Truly the Night Stalker's aid had done wonders for the Huntsman, a fact he would not soon forget.

"En garde!" the Assassin roared, kicking a Redcoat away so he may lash out at another. It was a shame the man hadn't listened.

William's blade tore through the man's stomach like butter, and not for the first time, blood was spilt. Paying no mind to the dying man, William swung in another direction, his sword clashing with several others. Reeling back, William moved to raise his pistol again in a foolish attempt to bluff he didn't expect to work. He was right. One of the Redcoats had expected such a movement, and quickly knocked the gun from his hands with a sword of their own.

Still, William had become quite the swordsman in the past year, and the large movement that Redcoat had made to disarm him provided just the opening he needed to run him through with his blade.

He swung his sword mockingly as he took two steps back. "Three down," he whistled to the remaining Redcoats, "Who's next?"

As expected, they didn't honor him with a response. Three of them charged forward at once, no doubt intending to impale the man together. Still, William would have none of it. As the men approached, the Huntsman turned, making use of his free-running skills to run up the wall several steps, pausing only to flip backwards above the Redcoats' blades. Yet another wonderful trick he'd learned from the more agile Assassins.

Now behind them, it was with complete ease that William cut them down, wasting no energy on fancy sword maneuvers or the like.

He turned, expecting to slay yet another Redcoat only to come face to face with the barrel of several rifles. It sure did take them long enough.

He dropped his sword.

"Gentlemen," he said smoothly, his French accent breaking through, "It would seem that you have me at a… disadvantage."

"Today's the day you die, Assassin!" one of the riflemen snarled.

"Apologies," William tilted his head forward, a small sphere dropping from the tip of his hat, "but I'm afraid I must disagree."

A loud bang rang out, and smoke filled the room in seconds. The remaining Redcoats coughed, unable to see, or breathe, anything.

William however smirked, his hidden hook falling into his right hand as he went to work.

Silently, sneakily, under the mask the bomb provided, he cut the Redcoats down one by one. By the time the smoke cleared, he was the only one left standing.

"Redcoats," he sighed aloud, cleaning the hook with a white cloth, "so easy to fool."

Moving to his discarded weapons, William shook his head, cleaning them both before sliding them back into their respective holsters.

"Now then," he thought aloud, "Where was I?" he paused, glancing at the door from whence the Redcoats entered, smirking as he noticed its ajar status. "Ah yes, Redcoats."

"_You!_" Eleanor hissed as the hooded man entered, "Huntsman!"

"Ah Ms. Mallow," the Huntsman greeted, "How nice to see you again. Still playing the Redcoat I see?"

"Huntsman!" the woman all but hissed as she rattled her bonds, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Why what does it look like?" William asked beneath his hood, drawing his blade silkily, "Rescuing you of course."

"Rescuing me?!" Eleanor snorted incredulously, "It's _your_ fault I'm stuck here in the first place! After my failure to capture you-"

"After your failure to _kill_ me," the Huntsman corrected, "you were captured by the town guard. I suppose they didn't take kindly to your particular… circumstances?"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed, "How did you know that?!"

"You were chasing me Eleanor," the Huntsman replied, "did you really think I wouldn't have my eyes on you as well?"

There was a brief moment of silence between them.

"You know," William said finally, "If you were an Assassin, no one would question your ability just because you're a… well, female."

Eleanor grimaced, "Oh yes, why not, because you Assassins are just so noble." She spat sarcastically, "What happened to my guards?"

Beneath his hood, William rolled his eyes. "You know what happened to them."

The Redcoat grimaced, "You… You killed them didn't you?!"

"It was them or me," the Huntsman grunted, "as you can see, I chose me."

"This is why I despise Assassins," Eleanor hissed, "You all think you're so high and mighty, above the law! None of those men deserved to die. Perhaps suffer some consequences from the hands of my father, but death?!"

"You speak of things you know nothing of," the Huntsman warned, "the Assassins have laws, rules… tenants! And I'll have you know," William smirked, "that the first and foremost is that we stay our hand from the flesh of the innocent. These men who captured you were part of a female smuggling ring, you just happened to be their latest target. Hmph, perhaps they thought that by stealing American women it would worsen our resources somehow, foolishness. Regardless, they are hardly innocent."

"Well, it's not as if we'll ever hear their side of the story now is it Assassin?" Eleanor spat, "Who are you to judge the guilty from the innocent? Spare me your lectures and rules Huntsman, or I'll see you killed, as you did those men!"

The Huntsman snorted, cutting her bonds with ease, "I'm sure you will." He laughed inwardly as the Templar-to-be fell unceremoniously to the floor.

Eleanor hissed, her hand slowly reaching for her pocket, only for the Huntsman to quickly have his sword at her throat.

"There, there Redcoat," William smirked, "we wouldn't want you to be getting any ideas now would we?"

"Huntsman-!"

"On your feet," William said, lowering his blade, "you wouldn't want your father seeing you on your knees in front of another man now would you?"

Eleanor grimaced at the insinuation, doing as the man said. "Now you see here Huntsman-!"

The girl was once more cut off as the doors to the storage house once more burst open. In seconds, Redcoats had flooded the room, each carrying their very own rifles as they surrounded the pair, coming to a stop with a sturdy salute.

"Eleanor!" a deep voice roared from the back of the room, quickly making its way to the forefront as officer Mathew Davenport made himself known.

The girl grimaced. First the Huntsman, and now her father… she didn't need their help! Though, the presence of the latter did serve to be rather comforting.

"Father," she saluted cordially, moving to join him as the Huntsman grimaced. The odds were stacked against him.

"Huntsman," Davenport greeted, pushing his daughter into the crowds of Redcoats as he stepped forward, "you never cease to annoy me with your presence."

"And here I expected a reward," the Huntsman replied, "I did save your precious Redcoat after all."

"You have great skills my boy," Davenport continued, "yet you waste them working with those foul Assassins of yours. Do you not see that we can change this land for the better? Join us, work with us, and you'll have riches the likes of which you've never seen!" he gestured at the riflemen aiming at William, "You see, son, it doesn't have to be this way."

The Huntsman closed his eyes. Wolcott had said similar things, in his youth. But Wolcott was dead, by William's hand nonetheless. The Huntsman's right hand slid towards his sword's hilt. "I only have one father," he told Davenport steadily, "and he doesn't wear red."

Davenport bristled, "Fire!"

The order came too late.

A second before the riflemen could carry out the command, the windows to the storage house exploded, and thirty cloaked men and women of the Assassin Brotherhood made themselves known.

The Huntsman drew his blade as Davenport too, readied himself for battle.

"An Assassin never hunts alone." William hissed.

And they charged.

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